


Holdin' Out for a Hero

by volee_weva



Category: Psych
Genre: Lassiter Gets to Be Cool, M/M, Shawn Whump, Shawn gets kidnapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volee_weva/pseuds/volee_weva
Summary: Shawn Spencer grinned as much as he could, with the throbbing in his head. Carlton Lassiter didn’t get a lot of moments to be the cool guy, so, Shawn relished when he did. There was a certain sparkle in Lassie’s eyes when they bagged a bad guy; it was incredible to witness.--In which Shawn gets held hostage, and Lassie saves the day.





	Holdin' Out for a Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I like shows like Psych where you can put characters in danger and not actually worry about them dying.
> 
> Title is taken from "Holdin' Out For a Hero" by Bonnie Tyler

You know, the amount of times Shawn Spencer has found himself tied to a chair with something dangerous pointed at him, he should have an honorary medal or something. He’d hang it proudly on the wall in the Psych office. Hell, he’d even get it a commemorative plaque, double the honor. If he made it out of this one without a gunshot wound, he would definitely order himself a medal. And the plaque. Gus would complain about the lack of Feng-Shui, but, Shawn would worry about that later.

In the meantime, he wrinkled his nose at his kidnapper, who had a bad habit of scratching at his scalp so that dandruff piled under his fingernails. Dandruff Dan, as Shawn mentally nicknamed him, was also pointing a gun at him, which Shawn thought was kind of rude.

“Alight.” Dandruff Dan shook the gun, as if to show he meant business. “Where’s the money, psychic?”

Shawn eyes flicked around the room, taking in any and every detail that might be able to help him. It looked like a pretty standard Santa Barbara motel— Shawn caught the “Motel 8” pen and the note from the housekeeper in his peripherie. Enjoy your stay in Room 108!

Which meant he wasn’t too far from the SBPD station— probably only a couple minutes drive. He stifled a laugh. This guy was such an amateur, he wondered how this guy got so prolific.

“The answer is clouded,” He said in his best Madame Cleo voice. “Like the spirits don’t like that big scary gun you’ve got, or how tight these ropes are.” He barely wiggled under them, as if to show his point.

Dandruff Dan grimaced, stepping closer, gun still up. “Don’t play me, boy, or you’ll be meetin’ those spirits soon.”

The faux psychic made a face. “Ohh, you don’t want to shoot me.” He motioned with his head downwards to the stained motel floor. “Especially here. This carpet is far too luxurious, I’d hate to bleed to death all over it.”

Dandruff Dan furrowed his brows and looked down, not lowering the gun. “Ain’t never heard anyone call nothin’ in the Motel 8 a luxury.”

Bingo. “Oh, but it is!” Shawn waned, “The Motel 8 of Santa Barbara is a spectacle all its own!” He couldn’t help but smile, giving his ears a quick wiggle. “Especially the famous room 108!” The communicator in his ear twitched, but didn’t move from his ear canal. If that wasn’t a signal, he didn’t know what was.

Dandruff Dan frowned, bringing the gun back up. “Yeah, it’s great. But you’re gonna tell me where they hid the fuckin’ money, huh?” He shook the gun, and Shawn’s lips twitched down. “That’s my money, you know. I earned it, fair and square.”

“Kidnapping prominent community members for excessive ransoms isn’t exactly fair,” Shawn scoffed. “At least, that’s what the spirits say.”

Dan glowered, and in one swift movement, smacked the side of Shawn’s head with the butt of the gun. “Oh yeah? What’d your spirits say about that, huh?” Dan stepped back, clicking the safety off the gun. “And what’ll they say when I pepper ya full of holes?”

Shawn’s whole mind felt rattled, and he really hoped nothing got fractured. He was gonna be so bummed if he met an untimely demise at the dandruffy hands of Dan the Kidnapper Man.

“Well, they wouldn’t be too happy with that. I think they kind of like me.” Shawn chuckled low, humorless. “They’d say—“

“SANTA BARBARA POLICE DEPARTMENT, HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM.” 

Shawn Spencer grinned as much as he could, with the throbbing in his head. Carlton Lassiter didn’t get a lot of moments to be the cool guy, so, Shawn relished when he did. There was a certain sparkle in Lassie’s eyes when they bagged a bad guy; it was incredible to witness. 

Dandruff Dan has whirled around, grimacing, before his hands hung above his head.

“Drop the weapon.” Jules’ voice was hard, her eyes flicking to Shawn for only a brief moment. Dan followed her gaze to Shawn, then back to Jules and Lassie, and he conceded, the gun clattering to the floor. The two cops moved in an instant, Jules reaching for her cuffs with a team behind her, reciting Dandruff Dan’s charges of kidnapping, extortion, the whole gambit, as they subdued him.

Lassiter made his way over to Shawn, and, despite the fact that his brain felt like it had been careened around a pinball machine, he smiled. The cop’s expression was cold, but his eyes scanned over Shawn, dwelling on what Shawn could only assume was bruising, or even a little bit of blood in his hairline.

“Lassie, my knight in shining armor, I just knew you’d come and save me.” He cooed, drinking in the light pink color that blossomed at the top of Lassiter’s ears. 

He clicked his tongue, getting to work untying Shawn. “Of course you knew. Nothing psychic about you wearing a wire and telling us your exact location.”

“Still. I knew you’d be the one to cut me loose.” Shawn said as the ropes drooped around him, and he wriggled out. “It’s destiny.”

Lassiter’s expression twisted into something soft, playing it off with a gentle, “Destiny my ass.”

Shawn and Lassiter stood simultaneously, and Shawn knees buckled as he stood. He reached out for the closest solid thing, his hands gripping a shirtfront, planting his face into the broad chest of a certain Carlton Lassiter. It may have been the dizziness and the blood pumping around in his head, but he could swear he felt the distinct, heavy pounding of Lassie’s heart. 

“S-Spencer!” Lassie’s voice cracked, his hands coming up to grip Shawn’s biceps, stabilizing him and pulling him away from that subtle scent of amber musk.

Shawn gave Lassie a lazy smile. “Should’ve seen that coming. Just a little dizzy.” 

Carlton’s eyes flicked to the spot where the gun had hit again. “We need to get you checked out. You could be concussed, depending on how hard he hit you.”

“Ehh, that’s too much work.” Shawn wrinkled his nose. “Can’t you just check me out?”

Lassie scowled, moving to put one of Shawn’s arms across his shoulders. “I’m not a doctor, Spencer. You need a professional prognosis. Maybe one that admits you into a psych ward after you tell them you think you’re a psychic.” He teased, hooking his other hand at Shawn’s waist, like it was where his hand naturally fit, and they started to walk.

“You really are a hero, you know that, Lassie?” Shawn mused, as they put one foot in front of the other slowly. 

Carlton allowed himself to smile for a brief second, “I guess.”

“Like the DOG.”

“I will leave you here.” Lassiter deadpanned.

“No, you won’t.” Shawn said, with a sober certainty. “You like me waaaaay too much.”

Lassie sighed, before murmuring an almost silent. “Yeah, alright.”


End file.
